AT 43, I WAS A FIT MARATHON RUNNER – I NEVER EXPECTED TO HAVE A HEART ATTACK
If you had asked me who was most at risk of a heart attack, I would never have said myself. As the managing director of a health company, I try to practice what I preach: I compete in ultra marathons, have never smoked, am a healthy weight and eat reasonably well.
So when chest pain began in January, I ignored it. I blamed Christmas excess, cold weather and getting back into training. Yet within weeks, I was fighting for my life after a major heart attack.
I live with my partner and our three children in Farnham, Surrey. Life is busy as I balance work, commuting into London and family. Exercise has always been part of my routine, and I’m rarely without a fitness tracker on my wrist. Looking back, I probably trusted it more than I should have.
The first signs of trouble
Last summer, our team at Cannaray Wellness was developing a range of blood tests and I volunteered to try one of the prototypes. It showed that I had high LDL or “bad” cholesterol, which came as a surprise. There was no family history of heart disease, apart from my father possibly having raised cholesterol before he died at 95.
At 43, fit, active and feeling well, I knew high cholesterol wasn’t likely to be seen as an urgent priority by my NHS GP. Like many men, I quietly moved it to the bottom of my to-do list.
A clinician later suggested I start taking statins, but we agreed I’d first try to improve my diet for six months. I happily accepted. Looking back, I’d been influenced by social media videos where influencers with dubious medical backgrounds decried the side effects of statins, and convinced myself lifestyle changes would be enough. I drank less, ate a little more healthily and carried on with life.
Christmas came and went, and I felt perfectly well. Then, on January 5, I headed out with my dog for our usual 10km run. Halfway round, I became unusually breathless and slowed down, my chest aching all the way home. It should have been a warning sign.
The pain persists
A week later, I noticed the pain was still there, while simply walking the dog. When I got home, I called NHS 111. I was mortified when an ambulance arrived outside the house an hour later, with curious neighbours looking on. The paramedics carried out an ECG before taking me to A&E.
I spent eight hours undergoing tests. In the end, I was relieved when doctors said indigestion or acid reflux seemed the most likely explanation. One of my cardiac blood markers had been raised, so they arranged a follow-up ECG and heart scan the following week.
I went home believing the scare was over. Yet something still wasn’t right. I was constantly exhausted and unusually short-tempered. When my follow-up appointment arrived on January 28, I almost didn’t go. I convinced myself I was too busy to spend half a day waiting for tests that wouldn’t show anything.
Within minutes of the ECG, I realised I’d been wrong. “Your left ventricle isn’t moving the way we’d expect,” the consultant told me. “Something’s definitely going on.”
It felt like I was being thrown around inside a washing machine
Later that day, as I walked into a pharmacy to collect aspirin and GTN spray (a medication that relieves and prevents chest pains), an overwhelming pressure hit my chest. It felt as though I was being thrown around inside a washing machine. My vision blurred and all I wanted to do was lie down. I grabbed the prescription and somehow managed to drive the five minutes home. As I pulled onto the driveway, I dialled 999 but lost consciousness before anyone answered.
Thankfully, my partner was at home. When I didn’t come inside, she ran out to the car and immediately realised something was terribly wrong. She took over the call to 999 before climbing into the car and desperately trying to wake me.
When I didn’t respond, she called on our neighbours for help. Together they pulled me from the car and laid me on the ground while they prepared to perform CPR.
I remember very little of it. But in the brief moments when I was semi-conscious, one thought was crystal clear: I was going to die. About 45 minutes later, an ambulance arrived and blue-lighted me to Frimley Hospital’s acute cardiology ward. Within 24 hours, doctors performed an angiogram by threading a tube through an artery in my wrist to my heart.
It revealed that one of my coronary arteries was completely blocked. I’d suffered what doctors described as a widowmaker heart attack which has a survival rate of just 10 per cent. As I understand it, an angiogram is the “gold standard” for picking up blood clots. An ECG, on the other hand, is designed to show the heart’s mechanical function – which is why previous scans hadn’t flagged the blockage in my artery.
Fortunately, doctors were able to remove the blockage and use balloons to reopen the artery. It all felt surreal. I spent the next few days recovering on the ward, exhausted and amazed to still be alive. After a week of treatment, medication and monitoring, I was finally well enough to go home.
I live with the fear my heart would never recover
Recovery was far harder than I expected. When I left the hospital, I had to stop four times on the three-minute walk to the car because I was so breathless. I constantly felt as though I might faint and lived with the fear that my heart would fail again.
I also had to come to terms with taking a cocktail of medication, including blood thinners and beta blockers, that was keeping me alive. As someone who had always been reluctant to rely on medication, it was a difficult adjustment.
The first six weeks were spent largely resting. My local GP surgery was brilliant, regularly checking in, and little by little I began rebuilding my strength. Eventually I managed the 150-yard walk to the pub at the end of our road. It sounds ridiculous, but reaching it felt like a huge achievement.
In March, I returned to Frimley Hospital for a second angiogram. Doctors expected to fit stents into my coronary arteries, but the news was far better. My heart had recovered remarkably well. My ejection fraction [the measurement doctors use to evaluate the heart’s pump efficiency] had improved and I no longer needed the stents.
Instead, I was referred for NHS cardiac rehabilitation twice a week at a local working men’s club. Walking into the first session was humbling. I was around 25 years younger than everyone else there and couldn’t help thinking about how, only months earlier, I’d been competing in Hyrox fitness challenges. Now I was getting out of breath during step aerobics.
After the first session, I wasn’t sure I’d go back. But the nurses and other patients were incredibly supportive. By the time I finished the programme, I felt stronger physically and mentally than I had in months.
Getting used to a ‘new normal’
Even now, recovery isn’t just physical. Any twinge in my chest or unexplained ache can send my mind racing. I don’t think that anxiety ever disappears completely.
Looking back, doctors believe the earlier episodes of chest pain and breathlessness I experienced were probably smaller heart attacks. In many ways, I was a ticking time bomb. While they never pinpointed the cause of my heart attack, one consultant’s theory was that I have “familial hypercholesterolaemia”, an inherited genetic pre-disposition to high LDL cholesterol levels, which may have been the trigger. Others have suggested it was “bloody bad luck”.
The hardest thing to admit is that I ignored the warning signs because I simply couldn’t believe someone like me could have a heart attack. I was fit and active, and I convinced myself I was immune.
I also placed far too much faith in my fitness tracker. I’d assumed that if something was seriously wrong, my watch would alert me. It didn’t. Wearable technology is no substitute for listening to your body or seeking medical advice when something doesn’t feel right.
Ironically, the blood test that first flagged my raised cholesterol was trying to tell me something. I believe preventative testing has an important role to play alongside regular medical care. If I’d acted sooner, things might have turned out very differently.
I’m nowhere near as fit as I was before my heart attack, but every month I get a little stronger. Recently I attempted a run around a 10km route. That felt like a big step. During recovery, I started an Instagram account to connect with other younger heart patients, because I found the experience surprisingly lonely. Knowing there are others who understand has made a significant difference.
These days, though, my priorities have changed. Of course I’d love to get back to racing one day, but I’m no longer obsessed with performance. I’m happiest spending time out in nature, walking my dog, or with friends and family. I’m just incredibly grateful that I still have that chance.
As told to Ella Nunn
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